


Ghosts of the Past

by danvssomethingorother



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: M/M, PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts/Actions, my very AU take on the high cost of loathing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 15:25:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17921429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danvssomethingorother/pseuds/danvssomethingorother
Summary: Rusty suffering from PTSD attacks after seeing his father and the real Blue Morpho again.





	1. Chapter 1

The tremors and erratic heart beat were telltale signs the past was haunting him again. Rusty had found it hard to keep working in the lab after dropping three vials due to his quivering hands and jumping half a dozen times to what his mind had thought were phantom footsteps from kidnappers long dead.

He knew no work was going to get done, he retired from the lab and went to sit at the small bar in the living room. He poured a drink to relax his nerves.

He hadn’t been sleeping and the way his body quaked, the way those old phantom pains coursed through him from wounds that had long since healed, he knew he wasn’t going to get any work done.

He clenched his eyes shut and gently ran his fingers over his own throat feeling a strangling grip, cold robotic fingers tightening as he was waved around, he clenched his lips closed to keep the small strangled help from being brought into the present riding out the memory. He took a deep breath, drowned his drink and continued to message his throat still feeling the tingling of cold fingers there, even after all this time.

He knew exactly what was bringing this all back, but he just didn’t want to deal with it. He downed another drink, glancing around the dead penthouse. Unlike the compound, it was just always too quiet, too peaceful. No hum of old electronics, no remnants of the past calming him with familiarity. Everything was too new, quiet and reliable, no need to fix anything up to help calm himself down on nights like this. His children were grown, upstairs and moving on to their own lives, not needing their dad to settle petty feuds.

It was just him and his trauma and his addictions tonight. This was what he always wanted, a company that functioned, all the riches in the world and enough time alone to think without the kids screaming.

He drifted off a little after his fifth drink, hearing mummers from the past, hissing they told him doing that to Don would end this way and he needed to fix his son. He jolted awake once more, gulping, he couldn’t be fixed, and the damage had been done.

He was never going to be a wide-eyed innocent child again and his uncle Don had been driven to madness and would never save him from becoming this man. 

He jumped slightly feeling lips brush against the side of his head and large, strong arms wrap around him.

“Doc, you need to come to bed.”

When Rusty didn’t respond, Brock swept him off his feet and into his arms. The warm familiarity made him untense enough to rest his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder.

He probably just assumed his father’s reappearance and sudden disappearance were what was making him this way but he was only half right.

An old guilt was settling in his bones about what had happened to his father’s best friend and he almost felt partially to blame.

\---

Brock was refusing to talk to him as he checked him out of the hospital, well enough to return home but doctors were sternly recommending he seek counseling if jumping out a window was his idea of taking care of a business transaction.

Rusty had firmly denied the doctor’s suggestion but Brock, having enough of him, began ignoring him but seemed to begrudgingly agree with Rusty counseling wouldn’t do any good. He told the doctor much to Rusty’s chagrin, he suffered from a terminal case of stupid and there was no real cure for that. Rusty slumped in his wheel chair, pouting just as hard as Brock filled out the paper work to get him out of here and guaranteeing he would make sure he didn’t jump out anymore windows and setting up a few checkup visits without consulting Rusty first. Continuing to ignore him when he tried to say he would be busy the days he set up. 

Rusty suspected he was rough with him on purpose as he yanked him from his chair and practically threw him in the front seat of his car, jostling him enough to send fresh waves of pain through his body. Brock wasn’t hiding that he was mad at him, but he did show him enough concern to make sure he was buckled in and secure before he slammed the passenger seat door shut. Rusty crossed his arms and began pouting harder watching him from the rear-view mirror loading the wheel chair he would be stuck in while his leg healed into the trunk.

“I’m not a child,” he sneered at him as he slid into the driver seat and slammed the door shut hard enough to make Rusty tense, but it wasn’t enough for him to drop it.

“You damn well fooled me,” was all Brock grunted in his direction.

“It was a mistake,” Rusty sneered in Brock’s direction but just by the heavy glare Rusty knew none of his excuses were going to matter, “I miscalculated.”

“Miscalculated,” Brock sneered back at him making him sink a little in his seat at the look, “Throwing yourself out a closed window with no safety net was ‘miscalculating’.”

“I had a safety net, “he tried to argue but Brock’s finger smashing against the cigarette lighter on the dash made him wince hard enough to lose his train of thought, glaring at Brock as he lit up beside him.

“You had no clue what you were doing,” Brock growled blowing a large puff of smoke at him as he seethed at him a moment, nearly rear ending the car in front of them, making Rusty hold his breath to keep from panicking as he slammed hard on his breaks sending another large wave of pain through him as he flew forward, caught by the seat belt. 

He pulled over at a gas station to collect himself, knowing he was going to need to take Rusty back to the hospital if he got in an accident .

Brock took a long drag of his cigarette making Rusty take just as deep of a breath beside him watching the ash flick into Brock’s lap without him seeming to care before he exhaled the smoke away from Rusty and out the window, showing him a small amount of courtesy.

“You may not give a shit what happens to you,” he finally grumbled, the age showing in his eyes, a life time of dealing with Rusty Venture’s self-destructive actions, “But I do.”

“You have an odd way of showing it,” Rusty mumbled rubbing his hand against his aching leg, not wanting to face Brock pushing his head against the seat.

Brock took a deep breath, resting his hand against the back of Rusty’s head and messaging it in only the way he could making Rusty deflate, shoulders slumping in defeat, leaning further into the touch.

“You know…I care very deeply about you…”

Rusty cracked a smile, they had started their relationship again, picking it up like it had never ended when he walked back into his life permanently months ago and still after all these years, after raising a family together and sharing the same bed since he came back to him, he couldn’t say he loved him. Strong stoic macho man Brock, Rusty hoped he never changed. God knew he was better at talking about feelings then him even in his own awkward way.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you,” he finally admitted, Rusty Venture was his greatest challenge, protecting him from himself was harder then defeating any arch.

“Maybe ya should try counseling.”

Rusty didn’t respond. He didn’t know exactly why he did but it didn’t have much to do with his brother’s invention or the company he inherited from him. Maybe that was a partial reason, he really did want to prove he could do this, make the company work but the plan he had prepped did involve opening the window.

He vaguely remembered the tremors and nightmares and the phantom pain of being strangled.

It was just another self-destructive, split second decision after thinking too much of what became of his father’s best friend and what became of his father and what might become of himself if he kept down this road.

He felt Brock gently wiping his tears away with his finger and pulling him into an embrace as he sobbed. Gently placing a kiss on his forehead and whispering to him it was alright.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if anyone else is into this fic but I like writing this fic. Please drop a comment if you are enjoying as much as me ;P

Rusty was regretting his stunt the second he realized it would be a slow healing process. The last severe injury had had been in the arm at least, he could hobble around the lab until Brock threw him back in bed, but now he was stuck where ever Brock put him. It might have made things easier for his body guard, but it made it even more annoying for Rusty.

He was currently spread across the sofa in his room and making notes on things he could work on once he was able to as the TV droned on in the back ground.

He paused glancing up from his work hearing the theme music to his old show and groaned loudly realizing Brock had set the remote far away from him.

“Brock!”

Rusty yelled but frowned not seeing his body guard rushing to his rescue.

He slumped down trying to tune out the TV going back to sketching his next idea. His hand clumsily dropped his pen as he heard the narrator bellow tonight’s episode would be the mystery of The Blue Morpho.

He frowned deeper and just glanced towards the wall, staring at it intensely as his father’s voice was calmly demanding who this Blue Morpho character was and why he would assist them as he did.

He remembered the original blue morpho and how he had been kind, kinder then someone ought to be to a person like him. He remembered the way he often picked him up, gently running his fingers through his once thick red hair, trying to tell him things would be better tomorrow.

The show didn’t even try to pretend to make his Uncle Don anything like he truly was. He was brash and hot headed and was willing to let the character version of himself die just to get to the big bad of the week.

Rusty watched from the corner of his eye his uncle, a man he knew loved him, left him behind in the locked safe that was slowly running out of air just so he could catch up with the mob boss. Only Kano stayed behind to rescue him.

Rusty knew there was a reason why Jonas would portray his uncle like this. He was very young the first time he pressed his ear against his father’s study, the first time he tried to solve the mystery of what his father and uncle needed to do so long in there. Rusty had wanted to drag his Uncle Don upstairs to his blue prints he was very proud of for his grappling hook. His father had been dismissive of it, but his uncle always made him feel better the way he took anything he made.

His father was talking softer then he could recall him ever talking, there was a click of ice-cudes hitting the glasses but not really any of the normal laughing that went with it. They didn’t sound like they were enjoying each other’s company, it sounded like they were arguing.

Rusty had to strain his memory to remember the exact words, years of chemical abuse and head traumas did a number to your memory (which had always been the point, Rusty supposed.) He found himself wanting desperately to remember what had offended his uncle like it had, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to concentrate on what they were arguing about exactly but could only remember his uncle nearly squishing him the door he flung open.

Don had turned gentle seeing Rusty there, rubbing at his arm that was already bruising with the force the door had hit him, grabbing his hand and wordlessly pulling him away from the study. His father had stepped out, a displeased look on his face and drink in his hand watching them but didn’t say anything making Rusty’s insides tighten in anxious knots. His father upset was always bad, he felt his uncle pick him up and place a kiss on his temple as he stumbled seeing his father looking at them like that.

He took him to his room and sat him on his bed and ran his fingers through his hair, taking a deep breath.

“I am going away for a little while, Rust, I can’t work for your father anymore.”

Rusty gulped hard latching tight onto his uncle silently begging him to not leave him alone again. He had no one left to turn to when things got bad, not since Rodney had started hurting him too. He had no one left. Maybe he told him that, Rusty had spent so long trying to forget his uncle and how much he loved him he just couldn’t remember the details.

“I’ll come back, buddy,” he promised bending down next to him and pulling him in a tight hug, “But only for you. I’m not gonna let them hurt you anymore.”

He pulled away, giving Rusty a final kiss on the temple, something no one else did, something no one cared about Rusty enough to do.

 

“You just gotta hold on a little longer, when I come back, I’ll make sure he can’t do that to you again. He isn’t allowed to use you like that.”

What did his father do? Rusty clenched his eyes shut, everything blurred together after awhile, specific traumas blending and mashing together, some buried so deep, he couldn’t recall at all.

He was dragged from his musings by Brock entering the room, calling out to him about eating, something Rusty wasn’t very enthusiastic about. He didn’t respond watching the final half of the episode where Blue Morpho disappeared into the shadows, Kano deciding to stay on the side of ‘good’ instead of following after him.

His uncle was never immoral, the only shades of grey on his character were put there by Jonas.

“Doc, are you listening?” Brock demanded annoyed but softened seeing what he was watching with a sigh, “Why are you watching this garbage?”

Rusty just shrugged glancing away, he just wanted to go to sleep, he felt exhausted.

“I want to go to bed,” he grumbled out tugging at Brock’s arm, he didn’t have the energy to demand anything of Brock like he normally would. He could leave him here and he didn’t know if he would have the energy to care he didn’t jump to his request like he normally would.

Brock swept Rusty up with care sensing his dower mood and laying in the bed with him after he tenderly laid him down and pulled him close. Rusty buried his head into Brock’s chest too tired to try to do much else, sighing contently as he began messaging the back of his head.

As a child, Rusty was never safe unless his uncle Don was there and as an adult, he never felt safe unless Brock was near enough to latch onto.

He began to doze off, Brock’s presence relaxing him enough to finally fall asleep without the aid of pain medicine but his earlier thoughts were still floating around in his head. The guilt he had been feeling since the reappearance of the blue morpho.

He was twelve and his uncle was dead, he was told the entire Fitzcarraldo family was dead. They had died in a plane crash and Rusty knew it had to be his fault, they were coming here, his uncle was going to keep his promise, he was coming back for him.

None of his uncles were coming around the compound after the announcement of his death, even Kano had left for days, Rusty almost thought they wouldn’t come back. He almost hoped his easily angered uncles wouldn’t come back.

But then he had done what his father had told him not to, what even his Uncle Rodney had begged him not to in one of rare instances of kindness those days. He had gone down to the lab, there was a gap in his memory, he didn’t remember why he went down there but he would never forget what he had found.

It was a mess in the lab, not anything abnormal, his dad often made Helper clean up after him and didn’t make much effort in cleaning up after himself. Rusty made a face stepping in a large puddle of motor oil and kicked aside some tools, his dad wasn’t usually this messy. He must have been in one of his moods, Rusty knew when dad was in his moods he often turned his anger and frustration on him, he knew he should have just left. He wished he would have just left.

On the operation table a body was lying there, covered up in a thick white cloth, curiosity got the better of him and he pulled it back. He slammed his hand over his mouth to keep the scream quiet as his Uncle Don’s dead eyes stared up at him. 

His knees would have given out on him in panic if strong arms didn’t pull him close, teary eyes glanced up at his father who was giving him a disappointed but not angry look.

“I know you miss him as much as I do, Rust,” he mumbled to him pulling him closer to him, “This is our penance for sentencing him to death. We can’t just leave him dead, Rusty. You of all people must understand that, even if they don’t.”

Rusty just openly sobbed but found himself nodding in agreement with his father, he missed Don Fitzcarraldo more than anything in this world. He choked out he missed him and wanted him back to his father who pressed a gentle kiss on his temple. Just like his uncle had always done to calm him.

“You truly are my little wonder, you understand why daddy must do these things.”

It was wrong of him to let his father do that to uncle, turn him into that, not object and even offer to help.

He passed the tools to his father, he talked with excitement about how Don would be back, he had a hand in what he would become and there was no going back from that.

There was no real hiding from the fact he deserved it when his Uncle Don had tried to murder him for what he had done. He deserved to feel those ghost fingers wrapping around his throat and taking his breath away. He was no better then Jonas.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know the end is a little rushed but I didn't want to ramble too long. Please leave a comment if you enjoy the ending <3.

Rusty jolted awake, shoving himself away from Brock trying to catch his breath. Sweat was mixing with tears as they ran down his face, choking down his sobs trying in vain to not wake Brock.

Brock rose up, evaluating the situation, Brock knew Rusty too well. He sometimes suspected he had his code colors for his mood swings, easy ways to identify and handle the situation. Waking up crying probably wasn’t code red, not an immediate threat of harming himself, but somewhere in the middle, code yellow: Doc is crying and you don’t know why. Proceed with caution, stand clear and observe him closely, don’t make any unexpected moves. 

Rusty almost laughed, Brock was so easy to figure out. He had to have that calculated look in his eyes, his hand was tense on Rusty’s waist where it had been before he shifted over facing away from him. Rusty took a deep breath gathering his wits again but didn’t turn back to Brock.

“Its---” he began but was cut off by Brock shifting beside him, raising up to sternly glare at him.

“It’s not fine, you aren’t fine,” he said firmly not in the mood for Rusty to be Rusty.

Rusty wanted to lash out at Brock just for his tone alone but found himself too tired to fight with his body guard, just staring at the alarm clock, the blurry letters telling him it was midnight. He had gone to bed at dinner time and hadn’t gotten up. He didn’t know how he got away with that, Brock liked to nanny him over his health, especially after self-inflicted injuries.

Rusty knew Brock was worried and that came out as frustration. He was terrified or he wouldn’t be caving into Rusty like he had been doing. He wasn’t forcing him to do anything, he was already giving up on talking, settling down next to Rusty pulling him close to him. For all his bravado of taking over and putting his foot down when Rusty was in the hospital, he was just letting Rusty get his way while he recovered at home.

“I can’t stop thinking about him,” he finally grumbled out almost hoping Brock didn’t hear him after the words left his mouth but Brock never missed anything.

“Yer dad?” Brock guessed and for once he was wrong, the first time in 20 years he was wrong about something concerning Rusty Venture.

“I always thought you were psychic the way you just knew everything, but I guess not.”

He tried to be playful about it, but his words were as lifeless as he felt. He ran his fingers over Brock’s large fingers, he had killed men using these hands, but he was always gentle when he held Rusty and the boys. He was the only source of comfort the Venture family would ever know.

“Is it someone I need to take care?”

Rusty did chuckle at that, he could feel Brock’s lust for blood rising at the mere prospect someone had driven him to jumping out a window.

“No, he loved me,” he admitted intertwining his fingers with Brock’s and gulping feeling those phantom hands against his throat again, “It wasn’t his fault…”

Shakily he rubbed his throat with his other hand, an action Brock didn’t miss with his keen eyes. He felt Brock’s glare and his hand tightening around his helping him find ground and step away from the past.

“He’s dead if you are wondering, for good now.”

Rusty could practically hear the light bulb going off in Brock’s head as he put the pieces together.

“Vendata?” Brock tightened his grip on Rusty’s hand, he could feel the anger rushing through him now, “That was the bastard who nearly killed you!”

Rusty supposed he did but still felt a bristle of anger at Brock’s accusation, his nostrils flared but he didn’t say anything.

“You think Vendata loved you?” Brock sighed shaking his head, Rusty knew he had read the files. The robot created by Jonas Venture who had nearly killed him, strangled him long enough for him to black out. He continued to rub his throat, he continued to feel that injury long after it was over. It was one of those moments that wouldn’t leave him, scaring him. He was shaken afterwards, wouldn’t talk for days, wouldn’t eat, in such a severe state of shock Horace had finally put his foot down. He demanded Jonas fix his son and leave the lab. Jonas had gotten a therapy license after that and just taught Rusty to repress his trauma and emotions better if he didn’t want to be verbally abused for an hour a week. He gave his son his first taste of narcotic addictions doping him up to keep him docile to not be criticized by his friends any longer. 

“He wasn’t always like that…” Rusty groused loudly demanding Brock to understand without really explaining himself.

“My dad…and me…” he trailed off feeling empty, almost as dead as his father and uncle were now.

“Did that…”

He felt like sobbing until he passed out as he had done the day he learned the Fitzcarraldos had died as a child. He felt like breaking everything in his room and screaming like he had done when Myra had killed his children the first time. He didn’t have the strength for any of that, he felt numb. He hadn’t told anyone about his uncle in years. He hadn’t uttered the man’s name in almost thirty years and couldn’t express those feelings to Brock now. He shifted his bad leg and just let the pain course through him and kept doing that to feel something.

He felt Brock pull him closer, practically pinning him against him to keep him opening up his stitches like he almost wanted to now. It was a strange thing to think but he would rather be dealing with a bleeding injury then these feelings. He would feel something if bled but Brock wasn’t going to let him have his way on that. He just stared at the blurred clock, unable to see much without his glasses. He was surprised it wasn’t hours later only ten minutes had passed since last time he focused enough to read the clock.

“You were twelve Doc,” Brock mumbled into his ear placing a little butterfly kiss there making him unwind a little, “You weren’t turning anyone into a cyborg.”

“He died,” Rusty mumbled feeling safe enough to admit it to Brock, feeling safe enough to let a few tears begin to fall, “He wanted to protect me from my dad…I didn’t know if I could go on without him…”

He hadn’t cried in years over Don Fitzcarraldo but he couldn’t stop the tears.

“He loved me and I helped dad do that to him…”

He was sobbing so hard, his entire body shook but Brock just held him close, kept him from shattering. He protected him like no one else in his life would have bothered to after Don had died.

“It wasn’t your fault, Rust,” Brock mumbled to him kissing him on the temple, he felt like a child again. It made him feel a deeper sense of guilt over what had happened to the last man he felt safe around.

He tightened his grip around his waist and squeezed his hand harder making it easier for Rusty to breathe, listening to Brock’s steady heart beat and feeling his hot breath on the back of his head as he shifted beside him.

“Yer dad is an asshole, he’s lucky he’s dead.”

“What would you have done?” Rusty mumbled almost curious what Brock could have done, he was probably the only man who would have stood a chance against his father. He settled next to Brock, turning his head towards Brock who rolled his eyes at Rusty almost demanding he tell him what he would have done to protect him. Protect him from someone so untouchable like his father was.

Brock didn’t hold back on the gory details, Rusty wouldn’t admit it but sometimes Brock’s endless blood lust could be a bit of a turn on. He was an encyclopedia on how to make a man suffer for hurting the Venture family, he would risk his own job for him. He loved someone like him to even hypothetically kill a man like Jonas for him. Rip him apart piece by piece.

He jabbed him in the chest with his elbow after a solid minute of bloody details mumbling that was still his father, Jonas was a bastard but he did give life to him. Maybe that was the cruelest thing he could have done but lying next to Brock, willing to kill anyone for hurting him, made him a little appreciative of being alive.

Brock kissed him on the temple and let him relax against him, mindlessly running a finger over Brock’s large hand, a hand that had killed people but had always been gentle with him. Giving it a kiss before falling back asleep, content for now.

\---

Three months later after the grueling task of healing and starting therapy to appeal to Brock’s worries, he found himself in front of his uncle’s grave. He just sat in front of it, not saying anything to Brock who stood close by, vigilantly keeping an eye on Rusty and keeping an eye out for danger.

He ran his finger over the D and tracing his finger across every letter of his name, feeling much younger than his forty five years.

“Who buried him?”

“Its classified,” Brock grunted, “Had to break a lot of red tape just to get you here.”

Rusty just nodded fixing up the bright blue forget me nots around his name, decorating his grave with the vibrant blue he remembered him for.

“He was a kind man,” he mumbled not looking at Brock but Brock’s eyes were on him, he had been coaxing him for months to open up about a more positive part of his past. Getting little details here and there, “A bit weird but he was nice.”

“I never expected him to be buried. I always assumed he would be scattered over the city he protected. That’s what he once told me he wanted, he wanted to look after his city and even me after he died…to be the breeze or some bull shit like that. He was like that.”

Brock bent down by him, wordlessly helping him up, giving a solemn nod to the grave before pulling Rusty away.

“His son buried him,” he mumbled to Rusty as he slammed his door shut making Rusty’s eyes widen.

“Malcom is alive…?”

“Yeah,” Brock grunted but didn’t elaborate further making Rusty turn a glare on him for choosing the OSI’s privacy over him.

Something felt light though, his friend, his only real friend was alive somewhere out there. The boy who was connected to the only man who cared about him as a child, the man who was more like a father then his own father.

He was almost afraid to find him now after all these years.


End file.
